


Make A Fist

by malacophilous (orphan_account)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (but might not be), (implied/described), (kind of), (sort of), Aftercare, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Bloodletting, Carlos is evil, Companionable Snark, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Dismissive Carlos, Dom Carlos, Exsanguination, Gloves, Hand Jobs, Intuitive Dom, Latex, M/M, Medical Kink, Mindfuck, Needles, Nonverbal Communication, OR IS HE, Roleplay, Science Experiments, Verbal Humiliation, fakeout, hint of a sequel, you get to decide Cecil's anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malacophilous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil thinks he's helping with an experiment, but Carlos has other plans.  These plans are either evil, or the sweetest thing someone has done for Cecil in awhile.  Could go either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make A Fist

Something many people forget about deserts, when they do not live in one themselves, is that it's not dry all the time. The air may be dry, and the ground may be dusty, and the devil winds may crack the skin of your face and make you work your way through three tubes of chapstick in an afternoon, but it does rain. And when it does, the results are too disruptive to ignore.

When the rains came that October, slimy mud the exact colour of cocoa rose to flood the parking lot of the Crossroads Plaza strip mall, up to the curb near the storefront next to Big Rico's Pizza. It (the leased space now containing a small but well-outfitted laboratory) had once been the home of a pediatric dentist's office, with a cheerful mural, laid out like the page of a comic book, depicting a superhero tooth in a cape fighting the evil Plaque Attack. The mural was still there; the renovators hadn't had the heart to paint over it, because Jilly Bryant had done _such_ a good job on that brave bicuspid, and it had been part of her senior presentation for Art IV, and really, who can say no to a super tooth? But now that wall was partially obscured by a large whiteboard, and laminated charts, and a bright yellow sign over what used to be the spit sink, detailing emergency eye-wash protocol.

His car didn't do too well in the mud, so Cecil had parked along the street just outside of the strip mall proper, hoping that the filthy rooster-tail spray from passing traffic wouldn't _completely_ besmirch the driver's side door. He picked his way across the swampy parking lot in a pair of shiny yellow rain boots, ducking quickly under the awning over the little sidewalk just outside the shops. Outside of the lab, the plate glass door of which had been blocked from the inside by thick brown paper from the shipping shop on the opposite side of Big Rico's, Cecil pressed the buzzer, then shook out his rainbow-striped golf umbrella and furled it tidily while he waited.

A flap of the brown paper about the size of a matchbook folded down to reveal one of Carlos' eyes, slightly obscured behind a pair of foggy lab goggles. Carlos held up a finger, indicating that he would be just a minute, then folded the paper peep-hole closed again. Cecil rocked back and forth on his heels, whistling the trumpet part of an old jazz standard he had heard on the radio on his way over.

The door opened at last, with a little jingle from the bell mounted above it—another relic from its dentistry days—and Cecil stepped inside.

'I wasn't expecting you this early,' said Carlos, who was no longer wearing goggles but bore a ghost of them in the form of a light pressure-groove across his forehead and a pair of pinkish marks halfway down his cheeks. It was seven AM and he was already hard at work solving biological mysteries—Cecil admired that in a person.

'Well, I thought it might be best to set out a bit sooner, because of the weather.' Cecil leaned his umbrella against the wall next to a large canister of some form of gas, the size of the kind you get at a party supply store to inflate a large amount of balloons. 'People drive well in this town, generally speaking, but since it only rains for a few months out of the year, there's rather an awkward adjustment period while we remember how to hydroplane and fishtail.'

Carlos snapped on a pair of black latex gloves. 'You ready? Did all the preliminary stuff on the list I gave you?'

'Yes,' Cecil replied eagerly, taking off his muddy boots and putting them on the mat. 'I'm _very_ good at following instructions.'

'Didn't eat after midnight?'

Cecil took off his rain coat and draped it over the back of a chair. 'Nope.'

'Didn't have coffee this morning?'

'Not even a whiff.' Cecil beamed, though his eyes were a little tired.

'Good! I can't tell you how hard it is to get some people to prep for tests. Results are skewed all over the place.'

Carlos gestured for Cecil to sit down in the old dentist's chair, which had come with the property at no extra charge due to the fact that it was permanently welded to a steel plate in the floor. Cecil's feet dangled off the end, toes in his toe socks wiggling idly.

'Now, you remember how this is going to go, right?' Carlos asked, his back to Cecil as he prepared a tray of instruments and adjusted the settings on the large piece of machinery that stood nearby.

'You take the blood out, run it through the analysis thing, then put it back in as good as new.'

'Yep. Nothing to it.' Carlos turned around, set the tray on its stand next to the examination chair where Cecil reclined, then began to take a long coil of clear plastic tubing out of its shrink-wrapped packaging. 'It works sort of like dialysis, except we're not doing anything to your blood other than gleaning information. I'm going to connect one tube to the machine intake, then connect it to the back of a little needle,' as he said this he opened the crinkly plastic sleeve of a fresh, capped IV needle, showing it to Cecil, 'then another tube connects to the outlet valve and to a different needle to put the blood right back into you. I turn the machine on, pop both needles in, and there you go. It should only take about thirty minutes.'

Cecil squirmed excitedly, pleased as punch to be able to aid his wonderful Carlos in the pursuit of scientific understanding.

'Get all your fidgeting out before we start,' Carlos said with a slight chuckle. 'You're going to have to stay pretty still.'

Cecil obligingly drummed his fingers on the armrests, flopped his feet back and forth where they hung off the sloping end of the chair, stretched his shoulders and neck until something quietly popped, then he settled back down. 'Ahhh, right. Okay. Prepared for take-off.'

Carlos hooked up the tubes to their appropriate sockets, turned on the machine, screwed the IV needles onto the business end of each tube, then set them aside, taking a seat on a rolling stool.

'Make a fist.'

He tied a beige rubber tourniquet around Cecil's bicep, just above his elbow, then probed the soft skin inside the crook of his arm, searching for veins, surprised when he found two perfectly serviceable ones within seconds, standing out so starkly they cast diminutive shadows.

'Your veins are really excited to be here today,' he commented as he opened an alcohol swab.

'They're overjoyed to be near you,' Cecil said with that dreamy look on his face that meant he might start waxing poetic about Carlos' eyebrows or earlobes at any second.

Carlos cleaned the area he'd chosen, quickly found the veins again, then picked up one of the needles. 'Ready?' When Cecil nodded, Carlos told him to take a deep breath, then inserted the first needle into Cecil's arm.

Cecil shakily let out the breath he had been holding, eyelids flickering slightly.

'Keep making a fist,' said Carlos, securing the first needle in place with surgical tape. 'Second one's going in now.'

Biting his lip, Cecil made a faint noise in the back of his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from what Carlos was doing.

'There we go.' Carlos taped the second needle down then removed the tourniquet. 'On the count of three, relax your fist. One, two,' he twisted open a valve at the base of the first needle, 'three.'

Dark, almost-black blood shot from Cecil's vein down the tube and into the machine a few feet away, and Cecil took a shuddering breath.

'You okay? That didn't hurt too much, did it?'

Cecil looked a little groggy. 'Oh, no, everything's fine. I feel fine. Nice.'

Carlos squeezed Cecil's hand affectionately, then stood and went to watch the screen of the machine that was analysing Cecil's blood.

It was terribly relaxing, Cecil thought, having something pulled out of you through a tube. You didn't have to pay it any attention if you didn't want to, as the flow regulated itself. You didn't have to be in control, for awhile. And there was something very sensual about the pinch of the tourniquet, the drag of latex against his skin, the sharp bite of the needles as they entered him. He wouldn't mention it to Carlos, of course, because it might be a little _too_ weird for him. Who gets turned on by getting their blood drawn, anyway? That wasn't the sort of thing you _talked_ about, especially so early on in a relationship. That was something you saved for after at least one anniversary, surely. A blush rose, unbidden, from his chest, creeping up his neck into his face, and he dearly hoped that Carlos wouldn't turn around for a couple of minutes.

In an attempt to distract himself, Cecil opened his eyes and looked down once again to the tubes emerging from his arm, wondering if he could detect the movement of the vital fluid leaving his body. He couldn't, as it turned out, but he did notice something: nothing had come back to him through the second tube.

'How long does it take to analyse the blood?' Cecil asked in a conversational tone, trying to be casual. Carlos was standing with his back to him still, taking notes on a tablet, checking meters and fast-flickering digital number readouts on the vast machine. Lights blinked. Cecil's arm ached a little.

'Not too long,' said Carlos.

Cecil waited and watched. He began counting seconds in his head. Sixty seconds. One hundred and twenty seconds. Three minutes. Four. Five.

'Any time now, I suppose!' he said cheerfully.

'Mm,' Carlos said absently, still twisting knobs and taking down numbers. The second tube was still as empty and spotless as it had been in its packaging.

Cecil was beginning to feel a little faint, and paradoxically that increased his pleasure from a mere _ooh, that's nice_ to undeniable, urgent arousal. But the blush had faded, to be replaced with a cold, tingling feeling, like when faced with a horrifying sight and the colour drops abruptly from your face, leaving the skin clammy and blank.

'Carlos,' said Cecil, and his mouth didn't want to seem to let go of the S, drawing it out longer than was entirely necessary, 'I don't know from science, like you do, but taking into account a number of factors,' he was truly slurring now, 'I wonder if there mightn't be something wrong with the apparatus?'

'Oh, is _that_ what you wonder?' And at last Carlos turned around, setting his tablet on its stand on the table nearby, taking his time to such an extent that Cecil became anxious, desperate to see his eyes, to—and this was a silly thought—make sure his eyes were still the same, still _there_.

But then Carlos looked at him, and Cecil felt a huge wave of relief. Carlos was still Carlos, perfect and lovely, with silver at his temples, and smile-lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and everything was All Right.

'You're going to be fine,' said Carlos. 'This is all part of the experiment. You trust me, don't you?'

'Uh-huh.' Cecil tried to nod but remembered he had been told to stay still, and he didn't want to disobey—and he realised he didn't know if he _could_ nod. He was so sleepy, but not in a way where he wanted to sleep. He just wanted to rest, was all, just luxuriate here in this chair (which when it was reclined like this was more like a table) while Carlos worked. Maybe they could cuddle some, later. That would be nice. Cecil felt like a cat in a hot square of sunlight on a soft rug, save for the fact that he felt cold inside.

'I know exactly what I'm doing,' Carlos reassured him, and Cecil believed without question.

Cecil weaved in and out for a couple of minutes, not really sure what was happening, but then a second wind surged through him, sharp as a slap in the face. Cecil could hear the rain pounding the windows and the roof, could smell the thick, mudslide smell of his boots where they waited patiently on the mat by the door. He was coherent and tense, almost too alert, and had to forcefully remind himself not to struggle. Carlos had said he was supposed to stay still. Everything was fine. He was safe. Of _course_ Carlos knew what he was doing.

It occurred to Cecil in stages that while he had been temporarily insensate, his trousers had been unfastened, Carlos was once again seated on the rolling stool down near Cecil's knees, and one of Carlos' black-gloved hands was wrapped around his cock, which seemed to have more blood at its disposal than his brain, at the moment.

'Are you...?' Cecil said, trailing off because he didn't really know what he was asking, and also talking took far more effort than he could afford to invest.

'I wondered when you would get it,' said Carlos, his dark eyes narrowed, mouth a curious shape caught between a smirk and a look of disdain. 'Last month I saw you prick your finger on a staple in the station break room. It was right before I came in, and you didn't know I'd been watching from the hall.' Carlos circled his thumb across the tip of Cecil's cock. 'The sound you made was the _raunchiest_ thing, you wouldn't believe it. I don't think you even noticed that you moaned. And how you were squeezing the blood out of your finger, like you wanted to wring as much out as you possibly could? Priceless.'

Cecil's vision seemed to vibrate, his focus cycling between too sharp and too blurred, too fast. It reminded him of when Station Management had come out of its office—was this what fight-or-flight felt like? He didn't really feel it often. The workaday, baseline terror of Night Vale numbed a person to that sort of instinct, if they even had it to begin with.

'Then somehow we got on the topic of nosebleeds a few weeks ago, and you had this _look_ in your eye. This sort of helpless, hungry look.' Carlos smiled. 'Well, I had to figure out what _that_ was about. You know me. Always prying into things.'

Cecil tried valiantly to tell him that it was perfectly all right to pry into things if this was the sort of result one could expect, but the language centre of his brain didn't know where his mouth lived anymore.

'After putting that stuff together with a few other events, I realised that you were into blood loss. Once I'd done that, it was easy to find a decommissioned dialysis machine and make a few simple modifications. And you're _so_ eager to please, you probably would have agreed to anything I told you I needed help with. You're such a sucker, it's adorable. Tripping along behind me like a lamb. How are you feeling?' He gave Cecil a gentle squeeze. 'Dizzy?'

Cecil was still in that unnatural clarity mode, and shook his head, surprising himself that he was able to manage it. He opened his mouth, then frowned, irritated that no words came out, only able to gasp for air in response to the schemes enacted by Carlos' clever fingers.

'You like this, don't you?'

Cecil's eyes unfocussed a little as Carlos moved his hand in a particular way, and Cecil made a desperate, sobbing noise from deep in his chest.

' _That's_ right.' Carlos continued to manipulate Cecil in his black-gloved fist. 'You're weak. You know you can't stop me.'

Cecil's lip trembled as he whimpered.

The stool rolled across the floor, and Carlos was right next to Cecil, now, on the side where his arm dangled, pale and cold, tubes leading life away from his body, one empty, one full. Carlos leaned and whispered against Cecil's neck, 'I want you _so much_ like this. Shivering. Helpless. Right on the edge of going into shock.' He nipped Cecil's neck, just once, teeth sharper than they had any right to be. 'You can't say a word, can't ramble on about nonsense. I can just _have_ you. I can have you however I please.'

 _Yes,_ Cecil thought as loudly as he could. How had Carlos known _just_ how to choke off Cecil's anxious prattle and get to the point? Could Carlos read minds? (Ah, but that was another kink for another time.)

'I could let the machine run,' Carlos told him conspiratorially, with a hint of a laugh behind his words, like a kid whispering to his friend in class. 'I could let it suck you dry until you black out, until you can't wake up on your own anymore.' He pressed his lips against the faint, struggling pulse of Cecil's neck. 'Then I could have my way with you, and you couldn't protest.'

 _Please, yes!_ Cecil pleaded in the prison of his own mind, moaning wordlessly, so quietly is was little more than a quavering sigh. _Yes yes yes—well, no, not... no really, not_ _ **permanently**_ _, but yes right now!_

'I could pose you however I want, and you'd stay where I put you.'

_Yes, god, please Carlos—_

'I could take that tube from your arm, and throw the switch so the machine pushes the flow back, and I'd paint you with your own blood until you're soaked in it.'

_Don't stop,_ _**please** _ _, just—_

'And then I'd fuck you, and your blood would be all over me, the only warmth left to be had from your cold, near-lifeless body.'

_How do you know everything I want, yes, Carlos,_ _**please** _ _, I_ _**need** _ _it—_

'And everyone would wonder, _gosh, whatever happened to Cecil?_ ' He sounded mocking, sarcastic. His tone said: _What fools_. 'Because it would be so obvious that you were gone. No more broadcasts. No more sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. It would be the talk of the town, whatever became of you? But I'd know exactly where you were hiding.'

Cecil felt like he was spiralling in and out of reality, his breathing shallow, hips weakly twitching into Carlos' tenacious strokes. _Yes, keep me all to yourself, I'm yours!_

'I'd have you locked away in the back room, helpless to escape, just barely clinging to existence.'

_God—_

'No one else could have you, then. No one could touch you but me.'

Cecil had tunnel vision now, only able to discern three of the ceiling tiles, the edge of the big examination lamp which illuminated the chair, and a single curl of Carlos' perfect hair. All else was blackness, collapsing swiftly upon itself.

'My bloodless, empty little _slut_.'

Cecil came, shuddering hard, a strangled noise leaving him against his will, shortly followed by consciousness.

 

There was darkness.

There was darkness, and then.

 

Cecil was sitting up, the dentist's chair having been tilted once again into an upright position. Carlos, his hands no longer gloved, was holding a glass of orange juice up to Cecil's lips.

'Drink, sweetheart.'

Cecil did, not having realised how dry his throat was until he swallowed.

The room gradually became clear and crisp around him once more, as if it had been freshly minted, and the light only hurt his eyes a little. The rain had slackened off to a dull, persistent drumming, and the worst of the thunder seemed to have passed. The tubes were nowhere to be seen.

'Do you want a cookie?'

That seemed an incongruous thing to say, and Cecil made his bafflement known. 'What? Cookies?'

'Your blood sugar's a bit out of whack.'

Cecil huffed a little, a weak laugh. 'Well I _did_ just almost die in the throes of orgasm. I think it's reasonable to say that such a thing would do a number on anyone.'

Carlos laughed, and Cecil didn't know if it was at what he had said, or at _him_. 'You didn't almost die. The machine was calibrated to draw one pint and then stop. If you ever donate to the Red Cross, be sure to let them know you're a huge weakling. I think there's a line on the forms for that.'

'Shut up,' Cecil said playfully.

'I'm serious, at half a pint you got this martyr look on your face, like you could see Jesus. Kind of hilarious.'

'You're _horrible_.'

'Do me a favour and never get tattoos. You'd be a gibbering mess and faint all over everyone.'

'I would not!' (Cecil knew he would, though.)

Carlos got to his feet, taking the empty glass from Cecil. 'Do you want a cookie or not?'

'Yes, please.'

Carlos produced a massive M&M cookie from one of his lab coat pockets and stuck it unceremoniously into Cecil's mouth. 'There, you big baby.'

'Fmpfm,' said Cecil as he gratefully chewed his first bite. The context made it the best cookie he had ever tasted, and with each passing second of eating it he felt better.

After he had finished, Cecil shakily got to his feet; Carlos was doing something on his tablet again, not paying attention.

'Thanks for that,' said Cecil, 'I feel like a new man.'

'Put your coat on, I have work to do.'

Cecil obliged, faintly whistling more of the jazz standard he had heard in the car. As he reached for his umbrella and noticed the white square of gauze taped in the crook of his arm, a thought occurred to him. 'Guess you put it back while I was out, huh?'

Carlos was absorbed in his notes, and sounded like he was barely listening. 'What was that, babe?'

'Did you put the pint of blood back in me?'

Carlos looked up briefly, as if debating if the distraction was worth his time. 'No, I have plans for it. Don't you have some place to be?'

Cecil shivered as he pulled on his boots, not unpleasantly but not quite pleasantly either, looking back over his shoulder at Carlos before stepping out into the rain.


End file.
